Dementor's Kiss
by Catalina Royce
Summary: [One-Shot] "He is my dementor. He is my poison. He is my love."


**Title:** Dementor's Kiss  
**Author:** Catalina Royce  
**Disclaimer:** These stories are based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Summary:** "He is my dementor. He is my poison. He is my love."  
**Rating:** R

**Dementor's Kiss**

He wakes me with a kiss on the cheek.

My mouth forms a smile even as I slip back into my slumber. I hear a faint growl of annoyance, then his lips fasten against mine. It is everything; it is nothing. A peck, but it goes on forever until I am drowning in ice and floating on the waves of despair. My soul is leaving me. He is taking my soul with him to some far off land where there is no emotion and no happiness. He is sucking my soul through his mouth.

He is my dementor. He is my poison. He is my love. 

My eyes open and I stare at him. His eyes are fierce with emotion as he draws his mouth away from me. _Perhaps love,_ I think longingly. But it isn't love. It's never love. Desire, perhaps, but never love.

My eyes close briefly, and I fight away the despair that comes with my longing for him. Another sound of impatience, and he kisses me again. I give up, surrendering myself to his touch. He knows this, but he makes no acknowledgement of my submission but to end the kiss.

His hand strokes up my thigh, up my stomach. His fingers flutter over my breasts and I don't dare breathe. _Please,_ I think. But his hand continues on its path until it rests at my pulse, taking in the continual thump of the blood rushing through my veins.

My eyes stare at him, willing him to continue. I need this. I need _him_. The only time I ever feel secure in the relationship is when he's lying on me, when I can feel his weight pressing down on me. I am safe. Secure. It is then I can pretend that he loves me, when I can dream the dreams of innocence and marriage, and wish for things that I cannot have.

But I don't say that. Instead I watch him, waiting for him to move. He does finally, skimming his lips down to my neck. They, too, rest at my pulse point. Blood shoots around my body, tattooing itself into my memory.

My hands touch his hair, stroking through his blonde locks. I've never understood why he insists on gelling his hair. I think it has something to do with his father. But I'm always glad that he doesn't bother when he comes to me.

He slides on top of me. His hands brace his weight so it doesn't crush me. I'm thankful for the consideration. He may be slight in weight, but I am slighter. I smile. I can feel the heaven-sent pressure on me. His weight on my torso, on my legs. My hands glide down his back, my nails gently raking his skin.

He pays me back. Staring at my breasts, licking his lips. His fingers move up to play against the nipples, stroking and caressing them with the finesse of a master violin player and his instrument. My legs move restlessly, and he plucks the nipple gently. I gasp, and he smiles.

The tension inside me builds and I know that I can barely breath. But I don't care. I wait anxiously for the moment when he enters me. Emotions coalesce and conflict inside me, warring for the position of ruler. Dread as we were nearing the end of our game. Despair. Sorrow. Hate. But also love, sitting there waiting for its chance to be heard.

His hand slides down my stomach and towards the centre of me. I wait, breath baited, until his hand continues its course. It does, and for a moment I hate him for the intrusion, then his strong fingers flick over that tiny group of nerves, and all I can feel is the need.

_Now. Please. Please?_ I don't realise I've spoken it out loud until he smiles at me.

"If you think you're ready." 

I know I'm ready. I can feel it. The ache inside me, which grows with each breath, with every twitch of a muscle, every pore of my skin that touches his.

"Yes," I whisper, and he slides into me. I can feel him filling me. I wrap my legs around his waist, revelling for just a moment, until he starts to move.

I don't like the pace he sets, but then I grow used to it, and start to move with him. I stare at him with longing eyes, wishing that he would be completely mine.

He moves faster and faster, and I can feel the climax building up inside me, but I'm strangely detached from it.

An image of being married to him, of raising his children and having all his affection appears in my mind. It happens every time, and every time it increases my arousal to such a state that I climax there and then. Sometimes, I have to wonder what it is which sends me over the edge.

He kisses me as he gets thrown over too. It feel likes swimming, like drowning in a sea of ice. I can't breathe, can barely register anything but the pounding of my own heart and his lips and tongue plunging into the warmth of my mouth.

I'm drowning again. I'm floating once more. He's sucking the soul right out of my mouth and I have nothing to stop it.

He pulls back and looks at me with such tenderness, I feel sure he feels the same way about me.

"I love you," I whisper.

Fury flashes in his eyes, then calms to a sea of ice. Sharp, like daggers. He doesn't say anything for a while, and then, "Thank you."

Despair rips at my calm, and even though he's still on top of me, I don't feel safe any more. I'm alone. So alone, and I'm so cold and scared that I simply have to burst into tears.

He sees it. He hates it when I cry. He hates me when I cry. So he kisses me again. And again I'm drowning, but this time I plunge deeper and darker than ever before, and I know that this time, I've given him my soul for good.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ I'd originally pictured this as an exploration of an unhealthy relationship. While I achieved that in some sense, to me, this story it a mix of angst sweetness. I'm not sure if I'm disappointed or not with this piece.   
  
As always, send me your reviews, thoughts, comments, and critiques.  
_Catalina Royce_.


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